


The Long Road Home

by lavachick85



Series: How Darcy Met Bucky [2]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Thor (Movies)
Genre: Angst, Author Is Sleep Deprived, Author is not American so knows crap all about USA geography, Bucky Barnes Feels, Bucky Barnes Needs a Hug, Bucky Barnes Remembers, F/M, Family Feels, Feels, Fluff and Angst, Grief/Mourning, Not Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie) Compliant, Not Canon Compliant, Not Captain America: Civil War (Movie) Compliant, Sort Of, Steve Rogers is a Troll, The Author Regrets Nothing, all the hugs, did i mention feels, strong religious opinions that may offend
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-01
Updated: 2019-02-01
Packaged: 2019-10-20 10:38:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,300
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17620898
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lavachick85/pseuds/lavachick85
Summary: Bucky has finally been cleared to leave the tower and he's determined to make things right with his family. He wants to, he really does, but when he's faced with the physical reminder that he's essentially alone now, the only one of his line left, he falls apart.Of course, Darcy is more than happy to be there for him, happy to try to hold the broken pieces together and hold his hand all the way.





	The Long Road Home

**Author's Note:**

> Holy fucking hell, you guys!!!! So many sneaky, grabby hugs for all of you!!
> 
> Alrighty, so this one has some views and opinions that may (probably will!) offend some people. Please keep in mind that these are just opinions, everyone has one and everyone is entitled to one. No harm, no foul, right?
> 
> Also - Steve is still a fucking troll. Love him. Embrace him. He's a gift that you just can't return, damn it!

Darcy kicked her feet up on the small tempered glass patio table that had somehow (miraculously) found its way onto the roof of the tower along with three potentially, almost certainly, expensive deck chairs that looked more like they belonged in a swanky interior decorating magazine than on the roof of New York’s most prominent sky scrapers.

It was close to midnight and though the weather had been painfully uncomfortable and hotter than Satan’s balls for the past five days it was just this side of comfortably balmy and there was an almost cool breeze ruffling her hair as she looked out over the city’s twinkling skyline in the dark. She had a glass of crisp white wine held loosely in her fingers and her other hand was busy holding the mass of her thick, curly hair above her head so the breeze could skim her sweaty neck. Her shorts, which had fit just fine that morning when she’d dragged them on, were now digging into the fleshy part of her upper thigh and she wondered briefly if they were going to cut her in half. She’d bloated up something fierce over the course of the day and her oversized lightweight button up (that she had totally stolen from Bucky’s closet, shh, don’t tell him) was tied around her stupid, sweaty ribs. It was gross.

The city was experiencing an unprecedented heatwave with temperatures well over the hundreds and it wasn’t set to break for another two days.

The fucking tarmac was melting in slick, sticky patches and she’d ruined her new pair of converse earlier walking down the street to grab an iced coffee for herself and Jane.

Despite the high tech air-conditioning units that were fitted to the tower, multiple ones at that, the heat had seemed to permeate every little space possible and it had left people – almost everyone she’d encountered in the past few days – tetchy and irritable. It was probably all the windows in the place but apparently Tony hadn’t taken a little thing called Global Warming into account when he’d had every single said window tinted and or bullet proofed. Nobody was able to cool down and there was no respite from the ungodly heat, even at three in the goddamn morning when things were supposed to have cooled down for a few hours and Darcy found herself awake and uncomfortable more often than not, face pushed in front of an oscillating desk fan as she tried to gain some relief.

The upside to the whole miserable situation was the sheer amount of eye candy that was cropping up here, there and everywhere. There was a lot of bare stretches of damp, sweaty skin, most of them about as visually appealing as a shaved sloth, but there was the occasional exception.

Steve hadn’t put a shirt on in three days and had spent a good chunk of time sprawled in a shallow-filled kiddy pool drinking tequila right from the bottle. He’d accepted the presence of the bright pink and yellow cocktail umbrella she’d tucked behind his ear with an indulgent eye-roll and had smiled for pictures.

He may have simultaneously broken the internet and received a flustered text from her mother demanding he put it away and put some clothes on. And to stop being irresponsible and stop drinking booze whilst he was swimming.

He made Darcy send her a video message of him defiantly swigging from the bottle whilst he eyeballed the camera and sloshed more water over himself.

Her mother didn’t even dignify it with a verbal response, merely sent him a picture of her flipping the bird at him.

Bucky had sniggered out loud into his coffee when she’d sent the video to her Mama and it promptly came right back out of his nose when he’d seen her reply. He hadn’t been introduced but had been privy to previous conversations and her foul mouthed tangents about the neighbors three legged cat made him smile.

Even Natasha was feeling the discomfort of it and had been seen slinking around the building in a pair of criminally small denim shorts and a sports bra, her hair scraped up into a messy, sweaty top-knot that looked professionally done and not at all as lank and stringy as her own did. She was absolutely, unrepentantly jealous of the redhead’s ability to look quite so flawless. Seriously. The woman looked like she’d stepped right off the pages of a magazine, all lean muscle and shimmery skin that just didn’t quit. Darcy would bow down and kiss the spy’s feet if she was asked to, no questions asked. Hell, she might even get a bit of a thrill from it but she wasn’t about to delve too deeply down that rabbit hole. She was a good catholic girl.

Well.

Sometimes.

When it counted.

Ok, never.

She was a terrible catholic and she was pretty sure her hometown church would collapse in a pile of rubble if she were to ever set foot inside again. She was a big fan of pre-marital sex, believed that in some cases cheating was the only option despite the bad wrap it got and thought the mere idea that someone would be cast aside by a supposedly all encompassing, loving God for their sexuality was utter bullshit. Also, there were just some people in the world that deserved to be subjected to a slow, torturous, painful death and even then, sometimes that wasn’t even good enough in her opinion. She’d lost her faith a long, long time ago and she refused to consider the fact that it had anything to do with her father up and leaving them with his secretary. Her third grade teacher, Sister Helen, was of the opinion that was the case, but really, Darcy just thought it was a crock of shit. Her thought process was more along the lines of how could he or she be a real entity who loved their flock if he or she was so content to watch their children suffer in silence. She hated the entire premise of an all seeing, loving father that let awful, disgusting, criminal things happen to good people and didn’t lift a fucking finger to help or reassure them that it would be ok.

Sometimes it wasn’t ok.

She would believe in the Christian mythology when someone could physically prove that it was a legitimate thing. Her brain was too scientifically inclined to believe otherwise until further notice.

She took a sip of her wine and settled back in her chair, eyes cast skyward. For a moment she missed the wide open skies of New Mexico and the sleepy little town in Oklahoma where she’d spent the vast majority of her life. If she were in either of those places right now she would be able to see swathes upon swathes of stars blanketing the inky black sky but she was in New York and the light pollution was as such that all she could see was a muted haze and the false glitter of street lights. She smiled to herself as she thought about home, the dirt warm under her feet and fireflies buzzing around at dusk as she played a lazy game of baseball with the other kids on her street, their bare feet pounding in the dirt as they rounded the bases they’d haphazardly marked with trashcans, the heated arguments when the rules were blatantly ignored. Things never escalated beyond a bit of playful pushing and shoving before one by one everyone’s mother would appear and holler that dinner was ready, all previous disagreements forgotten.

Lather, rinse, repeat every day of the summer break, every year until she turned eighteen and moved away to college.

Part of her missed those days, she knew that if it wasn’t for her internship with Jane that she would have gone right back, but she wouldn’t change her life for the world. She had a satisfying, well paid job with benefits, a great apartment that she didn’t have to pay rent for and wonderful friends that were closer to family than some of her cousins were.

Life, currently, was good.

There was a heavy scrape of metal against concrete behind her, the fire door opening and closing and Darcy let go of her hair to look back over her shoulder to see who had come to join her. Her stomach did a little flip of pleasure when she saw it was Bucky and then she blinked in shock, mouth going dry when she noticed his choice of attire. Or lack thereof, apparently. He was wearing a pair of black and yellow floral swimming trunks that stopped just below his knee and hung low on his hips, the sharp dip of defined muscle at his hips drawing her eyes a little further south than was friendly. No shirt for the first time _ever_ , she noticed mutely and studiously ignored the flash of want in her belly. Fuck, he was pretty. All broad shoulders and well defined muscle, his waist thick and dear God, she could look at him all day. His legs were bare and she could see the bright pink nail polish that was still on his toes that she had put there with Steve’s help (he totally sat on him so he couldn’t get away), just a little chipped but still as glittery as the week prior. His hair was tied up off his neck and he was scratching at the shadow of stubble on his throat, dark and prickly and no doubt itchy with sweat. There was a beer bottle hanging from his free hand and he shot her a small, warm smile as he neared. She blinked and looked back out over the skyline to hide the warm flush that was spreading up her neck but murmured a quiet greeting regardless. She desperately hoped he couldn’t hear the rapid thud of her heart that he frequently inspired in her over the hum of the city below and took a large mouthful of wine so she couldn’t embarrass herself.

_Stop perving on Bucky_ , her mind chastised, _he’s not your personal cabana boy so please refrain from undressing him with your eyes. He’s not a hunk of meat. Stop drooling, Darcy Anne!_

It had been five (occasionally) hectic months since he’d come to live in the tower and whilst he wasn’t cleared for active duty, he wasn’t sure if he even wanted to be, he had recently been signed off so he could leave the building. He’d spent much of his time back and forth between his therapist, the gym (working off a butt-tonne of restless energy) and even her apartment on the odd occasion just trying to adapt to modern day life and get his head around the subtle nuances of everyday communication. Some days were quiet, his mouth only opening to shovel food into it but others were good; he would laugh and make quiet digs at Steve about Adrian in accounting who definitely had impure thoughts about America’s darling Captain (she was pretty sure the flamboyant scrap of a man had actually printed out the picture of Steve in the kiddy pool and had it displayed in his cubicle somewhere). He was adapting well though and was now eating properly, three main meals a day and snacks in between. She couldn’t forget the snacks! Once he was able to stomach it he approached food as though he’d never get the chance to eat again and was more than willing to try any and every cuisine the city had to offer. He loved Indian food – vegetable pakoras were his favorite and he had insisted on learning how to make them (read; he had _her_ learn how to make them)- and he had a deep love of all things cheese and cracker related. It warmed her to her toes to see him stuffing his face with tiny crackers and chunks of cheese whilst he watched cartoons at four in the afternoon. Wasn’t so fussed on fish though.

Go figure.

He was fairly difficult to rattle and he was taking everything that the modern century could throw at him in stride.

The look on his poor face when he’d gone rooting through her purse for a bottle of aspirin for her and had found her emergency stash of tampons, though… The poor baby had been beyond confused as he’d held up the small brightly wrapped feminine product and quietly asked what it was for. He’d been awkwardly uncomfortable when he’d learned what it was, but even more so when she’d told him how it was used.

_“It goes…?”_

_She nodded, trying desperately to hide her smirk at the look of discomfort on his face. “Uh huh.”_

_He fidgeted, actually fucking fidgeted, all the while still holding the tampon in his huge hand. “What, for the whole time, or..?”_

_She giggled a little now despite her thumping headache. “No, Sweetie, just for a few hours or so then you change ‘em out and replace with a new one. They’re actually pretty comfortable once you get used to it and they’re quite the clever little invention.” She shrugged lightly and turned back to the television where an episode of Fixer Upper was playing on mute. There was only so much of the husband’s frat boy humor she could stomach and why the fuck was everything always white?!. “Super handy if you want to go swimming during lady times. No unpleasant leakage-type surprises.”_

_He hummed, dumping the tampon back in her purse and returning with the aspirin. He shook three out of the bottle and handed her a glass of icy water, waited for her to swallow the pills and tossed the bottle back into her bag. “So,” he kept his eyes trained on the television and bit his lip. “So, it’s like a plug type thing or somethin’?” At her nod he frowned and innocently mused. “.. but how does it work? Pretty sure my pinky finger’s thicker’n that thing..”_

_Darcy promptly choked at the thought of his hands being **there** and bent at the waist to cough her lungs up. He pat her between the shoulders firmly until she caught her breath and asked her if she was alright, brows tight in concern._

_“Jesus, Bucky,” she gasped, face bright red, “It expands when it’s wet.”_

_“Huh.” He looked at her, head resting on the back of the sofa, hands splayed across his cotton covered abs. His hands. Those ones. The ones with super thick fingers that she couldn’t even bring herself to look out now without blushing. “That is clever, I guess.” His gaze turned thoughtful as he mused, “Wonder if they’d be good for packin’ out bullet wounds?”_

_Darcy shook her head in exasperation but pulled out her phone and pulled up a bunch of articles for him to look at that confirmed his theory, reports of army medics that were trialling a product based around the idea that had been developed for military use recently and she handed it to him, tossed a pillow on his lap and curled up to try to sleep away her headache. She fell asleep listening to him mumble to himself about the government wasting millions of taxpayer dollars developing something that was already readily available for a fraction of the cost and his fingers in her hair, stroking soothing circles against her throbbing temples._

“S’nice out here,” he murmured, head tipping back a little to swallow a mouthful of beer. He picked up a handful of the shelled pistachio nuts from the bowl on the table and tossed a few into his mouth. “Can’t believe the concrete’s still warm.”

She looked down at his feet, his toes wriggling against the still-warm concrete and couldn’t help her smile. “ _I_ can’t believe you’re still wearing that toe-nail polish,” she mused and took a hearty sip of her wine before settling back in her chair.

He shrugged, bottle clinking against his metal fingers, moonlight glinting off the silver of his shoulder and bouncing off his cheek. “I like it,” he admitted, his cheeks dimpling as he grinned at her snort of disbelief, “S’a pretty color.” He was quiet for a moment as he looked at his toes, flexed the joints and let out a small sigh. “I think Becca might’ve had some ribbons that were pretty close to it.”

Darcy’s stomach flipped like she was experiencing zero gravity for the first time and she reached out to squeeze his thigh, fingers digging in just above his knee in a show of support and sympathy. He didn’t talk about his sister often, but she knew that the loss of her weighed heavily on his mind a lot of the time and he missed her like crazy. Hell, the thought of losing one of her siblings was awful as it was, but to know that his baby sister had spent her life thinking he was lost to her when really he was in a glorified chiller cabinet somewhere in Europe made Darcy want to cry. Rebecca Barnes had thought her beloved big brother, protector and biggest fan was dead somewhere, his forgotten body rotting in the Alps until her dying day when in reality, he was being held prisoner and tortured, couldn’t remember that she even existed.

From what Darcy had been able to hunt down via public and medical records she had married young but had never been blessed with any children so it had been just her and her husband, Richard until he had passed away in his early sixties. Rebecca had spent the rest of her days in her childhood home in Brooklyn and had only gone into respite care a week prior to her death four years ago. There had been nobody to leave any of her family heirlooms to so the majority of her belongings (including both her mother’s and her own wedding dresses) had been donated to charity and what remained of Bucky’s things had been donated to The Smithsonian. She had been buried in the same cemetery as her parents, a small affair according to records and Bucky’s service medals had gone into the ground with her. They were the one thing of his she couldn’t bear to give up, the last physical part of him that she’d had and Darcy imagined that there had been some fairly strong choice words when The Smithsonian had requested them for display.

His hand covered hers and he squeezed back, tangling their fingers together and pressing an absent kiss to the back of her knuckles. His smile was small and melancholic and he took another sip of beer before setting the bottle on the table with her glass. She watched him look out over the city through the curtain of her hair and waited for him to speak. She could tell he was working up to something and she had a vague suspicion as to what it was, but he had to make the decision in his own time and no sooner. It had to be his choice. Not hers.

“I’m allowed to leave the tower now,” he murmured, eyes still gleaming with the shine from the city lights. “I wanna go see Becca.” He swallowed and reached for his beer, held it to his mouth and hesitated for a split second. “And my parents.”

Darcy dropped her head against his shoulder and nodded, her chapped lips pressing a chaste kiss against the brushed star that had been buffed and stripped of all trace of red, the points a glossy white with a blue center now.

“Do you want me to organize a ride for you?” He hadn’t gotten around to getting an up to date drivers license yet and she didn’t exactly feel happy about him catching a train out to Brooklyn all by himself. She was sure one of the junior agents on site would take him or maybe he could check out one of the numerous motorcycles that were available via Stark; he had his bike license but wasn’t too keen on the idea of closing himself into the small cab of a car alone just yet. Maybe Steve could take him? They could make a day of it and poke around the old neighborhood, hit up a few restaurants and close them down after eating everything in sight and be generally outraged by how hipsters had overtaken the place.

He tossed a few more pistachio nuts into his mouth and crunched on them. “Will you come with me?”

Darcy blinked, sitting up so she could look up at him. That and she was getting kinda sticky and sweaty again and she didn’t want it to get to the point where he could actually smell that she needed to reapply her piss-poor excuse for deodorant. Hell, he probably already could.

“You want me to come with you?” She asked him, bewildered.

He stared ahead, gaze shuttered and distant now. “S’ok, Darce,” he murmured. “I know you’re busy with work. Was just a thought.” He shrugged and looked at his feet for a minute, rolled his shoulders and stood up. “Never mind.”

She lunged after him and caught his flesh hand in hers, gave his arm a short sharp tug and called after him. “Hey!” She was dragged a couple of steps before she caught her balance and tugged on his arm again, harder this time. “Hey, now, I never said I wouldn’t go with you, Bucky! Stop walking away from me when I’m trying to talk to you – you _always_ do that and it shits me to tears!” She implored, frustrated. She was hot and tired and maybe a little drunk from the half a bottle of wine she’d polished off on her own over the course of the evening so what came out of her mouth next wasn’t actually meant to ever be uttered aloud within his freakishly wide hearing range. “Spending time with you is the highlight of my day, maybe even of my _entire shitty existence_ and all you do is walk away from me when you get it into your thick fucking head that I’m not interested in what you have to say.” She let go of his hand and studiously ignored the questioning tilt of his head, the way that his bare shoulders tensed and flexed in the moonlight as he turned around to face her. “You’re _important_ and you _never_ ask for anything for yourself so on the rare occasion that I can actually help you or make your life a little easier, goddammit, I’m sure as hell gonna do it, James Buchanan Barnes!” Her foot stomped, the skin slapping against the warm concrete and she swore loudly when a sharp rock dug into the arch of her foot. “For fucks – _Ow, shit, god fucking damn it!_ ” She hopped on one foot, thumb pressed into the abused red spot and flailed until he stepped close enough for her to grab his arm for balance, his hands cupping her elbow in a deceptively gentle grip as she swore and seethed to herself. She sucked on her teeth and glared at his feet. “You’re such a stubborn - we’re taking flowers for your mother and Becca.” She spat, still annoyed with him.

She couldn’t see him but knew he was nodding in the dark. “Yes, Ma’am.” He agreed readily, voice sombre like a scolded child.

Darcy sighed and just like that, her irritation bled away and she deflated, embarrassed by her verbal take down. “I’m sorry, Sweetie,” she breathed, tired and worn around the edges in a way she hadn’t been for a while now. “I’m sorry. There’s no excuse for me yelling at you, you didn’t do anything wrong.” His arms folded around her and she found herself pulled snugly against his chest, the metal plate that lay across his left pectoral cool against her hot cheek. “I’m sorry.”

He hushed her and ran his fingers through her dark locks, twisting and curling the strands around his big fist until she could feel the breeze cooling the back of her clammy neck. She let out a little moan of appreciation and sighed when his fingertips started massaging her scalp. If there was one thing she’d discovered about Bucky Barnes it was that he liked to touch her hair and was frighteningly adept at making her melt into a blissed out puddle.

She hummed against his chest and snuggled closer. “Did either of them have a favorite flower?”

He made a thoughtful sound, perhaps even a little confused. “I don’t,” he paused. “Maybe? I think my Ma liked anythin’ red, and Becca was pretty partial to pink roses. Didn’t get ‘em often as I’d like for her on account of ‘em bein’ so expensive, but I remember tryin’ to get her at least one every other week.”

She gave him a good, tight squeeze and pulled back just enough to look up at him, her mouth pulled into a soft smile. _Of course_ he was the type to bring his little sister flowers. Of course he fucking was.

“We’ll swing by the florist in the morning, try to get out there early to beat the heat.” Her eyes slipped shut at the feel of his scratchy chin against her temple, his warm lips pressing a soft, lingering kiss against her skin and he sighed into her hair.

“Thank you.”

He tucked his face into the curve of her neck and it took all she had not to shiver against him. His breath puffed against her overheated skin, hot and damp and a little part of her, the guilty, selfish part of her that decidedly _did not_ have a not so tiny, teensy, fluttery _thing_ for him, didn’t want to let him go.

*

Darcy ended up driving them out to Brooklyn the next morning, the day already painfully bright with an undercurrent of unpleasant heat that she knew would be sticky and humid by lunchtime. Her dress rode up her pale thighs as she pressed her foot down on the clutch and she didn’t bother to pull it back down because the air-con felt nice against her skin, her hand automatically settling on the gearshift as she shifted down into first, the car crawling along in bumper to bumper traffic as they crossed the Brooklyn Bridge.

They’d left the tower early, just after seven and had walked two blocks down to the nearest florist, the cool wash of air-conditioning sweeping over them as they’d stepped into the tiny little store, an honest to god bell heralding their arrival. Darcy immediately sent him off to pick something pretty for his Ma, something pretty that reminded him of her and made her way to the small counter where a rather short, plump elderly woman who was probably five years past retirement age manned the register. She asked for a bunch of her best pink roses and made short work of choosing a dozen of the prettiest full blooms that were in stock. Their color was a vibrant, deep pink that softened into a soft, powdery shade of the same color towards the edges and watched fascinated as the woman expertly trimmed the stems, arranged the flowers just so and wrapped them up in a thick, glossy black paper that was embossed with little swirls and stars. She’d smiled at the stars, it was very apt. Bucky appeared at her side as she watched the woman work and politely waited for her to notice him before he pointed out the large display of beautiful giant red gerberas by the shop’s front window. Once everything was selected, arranged and paid for Darcy had thanked the little old lady profusely and lead a quiet Bucky out of the store and back into the early morning heat, both bunches of flowers held carefully in his right hand, Darcy’s clasped in his left.

Once they got back to the tower Darcy had showed him how to get to the parking garage, it wasn’t as straight forward as you’d think and they’d hopped into a large white Lexus SUV that she’d signed out for the day and they were on their way.

There was a plastic crinkle as he pulled the large bottle of water from between his feet, it was too wide for the cup holders and took a long, deep drink before offering it to her. He held it out and didn’t let go of it before he was sure she had a good grip and watched her take a mouthful, then replaced the cap and tucked it back between his booted feet.

“Do you know exactly where we’re goin’?” He asked as they crawled along at a snail’s pace and Darcy shook her head at him, jerking her chin towards the small satellite navigational system that was installed in the car.

“I’ve inputted the address into there,” she changed lanes smoothly as the traffic began to speed up and they cruised closer towards the borough. “It’ll tell us where to go, when to turn and hopefully where we can park.”

He nodded mutely, eyes cast out the window over the bay. “All looks so different,” he murmured quietly and his fingers flexed against his denim clad thigh. She’d tried to convince him that it was too hot out for the black jeans and motorcycle boots but he’d insisted with the sort of stubborn determination that she’d come to expect from him in the past few months. They’d argued about it for a solid twenty minutes, her doing a lot of hand waving as she pointed out he was going to swelter in them, asked why couldn’t he wear a pair of shorts or something and finally he’d snapped at her and proclaimed he wasn’t going to visit his mother for the first time in seventy years looking like a goddamned bum in swim trunks and flip flops. She’d quickly acquiesced after that. She got it, she really did. He wanted to look respectable and presentable for his family and he couldn’t do that whilst he was parading around topless in a pair of neon yellow and black floral swim trunks and no shoes, toenails painted a bright, glittery pink. 

He was painfully quiet next to her and she glanced at him out of the corner of her eye before she took the sat-nav advised turn towards his old neighborhood. “You alright?”

He kept his eyes fixed out the window as they drove through the streets he’d grown up roaming around and he nodded mutely. It seemed to closer they got to the cemetery the more withdrawn he became and Darcy was getting worried. Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea after all? She bit back a concerned sigh as the sat-nav announced they had reached their destination and she easily maneuvered the car into a space across the street and parked it underneath a tree that was quite possibly as old as Bucky was, its branches thick with leaves and swaying in the breeze. Patchy shade swept over them and she peered out the window to the cemetery across the street before quickly unbuckling her seat belt and prodding him with a gentle nudge. She tried not to notice how his breathing shook a little as he unbuckled his own belt and she touched the back of his hand with her fingertips. “Ok?”

He blew out a ragged breath and nodded tightly before he opened the door and slipped out. He came around the front of the SUV and waited for her to grab the flowers from the backseat and join him, his blue eyes fixed on the old wrought iron gate across the way. He reached for her hand first this time and she gladly let him tangle their fingers together, his warm, dry palm pressed firmly to her own. They stood quietly for a couple of minutes until he was ready to move.

“This is a lot harder than I thought it’d be,” he admitted as they started to cross the road, his hair blowing across his face in the wind. He lifted his free hand to swipe it back behind his ear and reached for the old, worn gate to admit her in front of him.

He paused briefly as the gate swung shut behind him and his wide eyes followed Darcy as she picked her way past a series of untended older graves towards the middle of the lot where Steve had told them he would find what he was looking for. Oddly enough, Steve’s mother, Sarah, was buried just across the way from his entire family, as if their friendship in life had somehow forged along beyond death.

“C’mon, Bucky,” she knew he wasn’t behind her anymore, he was still frozen just inside the gate looking like someone had reached into his chest and dragged his heart out of it before showing it to him. He looked like he was convinced he had nothing left in this world and it did more than break her heart just a little bit; it fucking hurt to look at him and see him so upset. “Come ‘ere, Sugar Plum. Come say hi to your family.”

He started at the nickname and blinked rapidly, his eyes regaining a little bit of clarity and lucidity before he slowly started toward her, his left hand loose against his thigh and his right shaking like a leaf. He stopped a few feet away, his features twisted in some sort of pained grimace.

“I don’t know if I can do this,” He cast his gaze toward his feet and chewed the inside of his cheek, face turned off to the side, eyes slipping shut. “I’m such a fucking disappointment, Darce. My Ma’s probably turnin’ in her grave at all the things I’ve… I’m such a disappointment.” He blinked up at her with wet, red eyes and he took a shaky breath. “I was supposed to be here. I was supposed to take care of ‘em, walk Becca down the aisle and dance with her at her wedding… I,” he swallowed back a sob and wiped at his eyes furiously as the tears started to fall. “I’m a monster, Darcy. How are they supposed to be proud of me when all I am is a fucking monster?”

She was at his side in the blink of an eye, hell, she wasn’t even sure she remembered setting down the flowers but a quick glance over her shoulder told her that yes, she had set them down, no, she hadn’t just dropped them where she stood. She reached for him and slipped her hands up the strong lengths of his arms, cupping his neck with steady fingers and drawing his head down to press against hers as she struggled not to cry right along with him. She breathed with him, her lips pressed against his brow unmoving as he stood in a semi-crouch in front of her, unable to reach her level without doing so, his hands hanging limply at his sides.

“James Barnes,” She stroked his hair back and sunk her fingers into the thick bulk of it at the base of his skull, holding him close but giving him a slight, manic shake, “You are _not_ a monster.” She bumped her forehead against his and let her thumb brush the spot behind his ear that almost always soothed him. It didn’t work this time and he only sobbed harder at her insistence that he was a good man, that his mother would be so proud of him because he was her baby and how she always loved him, always would, no matter what. At some point his arms had snaked around her waist and she stumbled closer, her body slamming into his with a muted thump as he dragged her so close he may as well be tucked into her dress with her.

“Bucky,” she tried again, pressing kisses all over his wet face. She could taste the salt on her lips and stroked the side of his neck, fingers petting and soothing him until his breathing took on a steadier rhythm. “Look at me, Bucky.”

He took a painful, shuddering breath and whined in the back of his throat, made a feeble attempt at untangling himself from her but she held fast, coaxing him to open his eyes and take a breath. To breathe with her. She could feel her eyes welling up the longer it went on and her sinuses stung like a motherfucker as she struggled to maintain composure. She wet her lips and whispered his name, pleaded for him to look at her.

Her fingers swept over his face, mapping out every dip and sharp line, every curve and scar that he had and she traced the swollen skin that stretched across his full bottom lip, content to wait him out so she could say her piece.

“James Buchanan Barnes,” she smiled against his cheek, brushed her nose against his and delighted inwardly when his eyes fluttered open, his lashes wet and dark and eyes bluer than blue. “You are not a monster. You are a survivor; a strong, resilient, good human being who I consider myself privileged to know. You have suffered, you have killed, you have fought and you have sacrificed everything to protect your family.” She stroked his cheek, trying to mask how being this close was making her heart thunder in her chest and how being able to breathe him in, to taste the air coming out of his mouth was something that she’d wanted for months now but had never spoken of to anyone, not even Jane. It felt too much like taking advantage, admitting her feelings out loud whilst he still had days when he was unable to communicate with anyone properly. “You are perfect. As you are. I can’t say if your mother is proud of the man you were, but I am certain that she is beyond proud of the man that you are. You are a _good_ man, Bucky. A beautiful, strong man and you’re my personal fucking hero. I don’t care what anyone else thinks; I am so _ridiculously_ proud of you, James Barnes.”

He breathed shakily into her mouth and blinked slowly, fingers flexing on her waist and the small of her back. He swallowed audibly and she could feel the brush of his beard against her open mouth when he spoke. “You taste like peppermint hot chocolate,” he rasped, his voice hoarse from crying, eyes wide and full of quiet wonder. Darcy’s breath caught at the soft admission and her fingers cradled his cheek, thumb brushed away the evidence of his crying jag. He leaned into her touch and mouthed at the palm of her hand, warm fingers reaching up to cover her own. “You make me feel more human, Darce,” he sighed against her skin and goosebumps prickled along her spine at the intimate gesture. “You just bein’ there, it makes me feel whole again.”

Her eyes flitted back and forth as she searched his gaze for any indication of deceit, any hint that what he’d just whispered into her mouth was some sort of hurtful, cruel joke that he was playing on her to see what she would do so he could laugh and make fun of her. There was nothing but pure unfettered honesty and something else, a deep affection that made her stomach clench and her heart race and her breathing uneven.

“… Bucky…”

He brushed his nose against hers and carefully pulled her closer by the hips. “M’gonna kiss you now.” His eyes flicked down toward her mouth as her tongue swept out to wet her lips and back up again. “Is.. Is that..?”

Darcy’s fingers curled into the skin on the back of his neck and her mouth formed her reply but no words came out, just a puff of air that was inhaled and swallowed down by him as he closed the gap between them and slotted his lips over hers with a shaky, sharp inhale.

For a moment neither of them moved, their lips pressed together, eyes fluttered shut but then he moved and took her chin in his hand and tipped her face upwards so he could reach her easier. She was content to let him lead the way, not at all like her, really, and she sighed into his mouth as he deepened the kiss, his lips sliding across hers languidly, tasting her until there was no air left in her lungs and she couldn’t remember how to breathe on her own. She pulled back a little, just enough to take in a lungful of air before his mouth claimed hers again, a little firmer this time, a little more insistent with a hint of tongue and she whimpered against his lips, fingers clutching the back of his neck and the collar of his shirt as he gathered her up against his chest and kissed the life out of her. Every inch of her skin felt like it was abuzz with static creeping along her nerve endings and she found herself responding to the barest of touches, pressing closer and closer until it wasn’t clear where one stopped and the other began as his fingers grazed across her skin and sunk into her hair. His thumbs bracketed her cheeks as he pulled away to drag in a ragged breath only for him to surge forward and press a final slow, lazy open mouthed kiss to her lips before he broke away completely and buried his face in the riot of mussed hair against her neck. She blinked, her eyes opening slowly to let the light trickle back in and she relished the warmth of him wrapped around her, her heart beat loud in her ears, stuttering and jumping erratically.

Ok. So that just happened.

Sweet Jesus, Bucky Barnes just kissed the life out of her and she wasn’t dreaming… Was she? Did she actually just make out with a national hero or did she drift off into daydream land and imagine the whole thing?

She licked her lips, a little dazed and she could taste him on them. Nope. That definitely happened. “Um.”

Bucky drew back just enough to look at her, his eyes no longer haunted and hollow, his mouth red and bruised from her lips. He swept a hand across her forehead and tucked an errant curl behind her ear, the gesture taking on new meaning to her when she saw the tender look of concern on his face. “You alright?”

Darcy hummed, content and smoothed her hand down between his shoulders, gave him a gentle pat and pressed a soft kiss to the corner of his mouth. “Better than.” She reassured him before she carefully unwrapped herself from around him and slipped her hand into his. She tugged on his arm and nodded towards the flowers. “Come on. Come say hi.”

He took a deep breath and nodded, allowing her to lead him towards the row of headstones that were clearly marked with his family name, the grass around them all neat and tidy and cared for. Loved. Darcy made a mental note to thank Steve when they got back and pushed the red bunch of gerberas into Bucky’s shaking hands, watched him from a respectful distance as he took the final few steps and carefully knelt by his mother’s final resting place. He set the flowers down, fussing with them for a minute before he pressed his flesh palm against her name and let out a small sigh that only he could hear.

“Hey, Ma,” he murmured softly, fingers tracing the gold lettering reverently. “I’m home.”

 

 


End file.
